Just to have a piece of you always with me
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Matt and Mello get into an accident, and Mello's in a coma. Matt is fine, but seems to be vomiting a lot and Near insists he gets someone to check it. So L checks to see what's wrong. Boy, will Mello be in for a surprise when he wakes up! MattMello. Mpreg
1. Surrealistic: Matt’s loosing it

**Just to have a piece of you always with me**

One: Surrealistic: Matt's loosing it.

He was barely breathing. He wasn't moving. He was lying in that bed—the bed they saved for things like this—and the whole room was white and so was he. And he was not breathing like he should. Matt couldn't name it. What was it exactly, that he felt right now. Was it anger? No, he'd shot the man that had done this right through his brains—he wasn't angry anymore. Was it sorrow? No, not really—he wasn't yet sad, no. Not yet. It was freight. Matt was afraid of loosing him—because that would mean the end of the world, and the end of the world could not be a good thing.

Near had been there. He had been sitting by Matt as they waited. He had held on to Matt's hand when they put him in the ambulance to bring him and the machinery to Wammy's. He had even tried to smile when he thought Matt was in need of it. But Matt hadn't dared to talk to Near—Near wasn't apathetic, he wasn't ill in his head, or rude. Near was just honest. And when you ask someone if your best friend might die, they're supposed to say no. Near wouldn't. Because Near was honest. He would tell Matt the truth. And the truth was that his best friend might be dying. Matt just didn't want to hear it.

He was not going to lie about it—he was slowly loosing his mind. He didn't want to talk to people, because all the people that were left were super-beings and honest at all times. He wanted people to lie to him, and he _didn't lie_ about it. Would he speak, the first thing he would do was beg Near to tell him it was going to be okay. That's why he refrained from talking. He had to get that it might not be okay, and that was it. It wouldn't do him any good.

L said he shouldn't just sit there all day—he was hurt too, and he should be resting. But Matt didn't want to. Not as long as his best friend wasn't breathing properly and he might die. In the end the nurse dragged him off to his own room—he was in a wheelchair, so it wasn't hard at all—and told him that he had to stay, or she was banning him from the sick-room. Matt didn't think she could really keep him away, but Near was there, immediately by his side. He even kept watch out for news while Matt caught up on his sleep. He even told the kids to go every time they stopped to peek into the room to see if Matt was really as messed up as they'd heard he was.

He really wasn't. His leg was in a plaster, his hand in a bandage and his side had stitches—but goddammit, he was breathing properly, so could they all just fuck off? He was just fine. Only sometimes he wasn't. Which was about all the time. He wanted to cry the whole day long. Because his best friend might die. And there was all this time that he just spent _waiting_—even if it had just been one week. All this time wherein they couldn't tell for sure whether he was progressing or not. It was hell. Because waiting for something as unsure as this was so painful. He wanted to cry but had no tears, and he wanted to scream but his throat went dry. He willed himself not to be weak—because than it would be like he'd already given up hope—but the waiting was so painful.

--

"Matt?" When Near entered Matt's room, he seemed to be missing. "Matt?" He asked again.

The wheelchair was still next to his bed, so he couldn't have wandered off far. Then he heard the disturbingly sick noises coming from the bathroom, and walked over to find... Matt. Throwing up in the toilet.

"Matt, are you okay? What did you do?" Near asked, sitting down next to him and rubbing his back as Matt let go of another load of food. Near did his best not to watch, or ignore the splattering sounds. He miserably failed.

Matt didn't speak for a while, until he was sure he wasn't going to vomit again. He coughed and got up, hopping to the sink, to wash his face and rinse his mouth. The taste was too bitter to stand.

"I dunno," he eventually murmured, and let Near help him to get into bed again. "It was like this yesterday too—something's just causing me to vomit in the morning. I have no clue what it is."

"It can't be because of the accident," Near said pensively, sitting down by the feet of Matt's bed. "But what else could it be?"

Matt shrugged his shoulders, sinking deeper under the blankets.

"How's he doing?" He asked silently, and Near looked at him, suddenly smiling.

"Actually, the doctor said he's officially making progress."

Matt's eyes widened.

"He is!"

Near nodded, and before he knew it an overly happy redhead was hugging him—or trying to strangle him, could be either.

--

If two weeks ago, anyone would've told him he'd be in this position, he would've laughed his arse off and then killed the mother-fucker. Being next to the bed, looking at the boy sleeping his life away was surrealistic—and believe me, Matt knew surrealistic. Surrealistic was this very moment.

The doctor had told him that he could talk to the blonde. He'd said that it might help. But Matt couldn't do that—talking to him while he was sleeping seemed so weird. And then, if he wouldn't wake up, Matt would feel even worse. Because then he would've tried, and failed. He _knew_ he ought to be trying. He just couldn't.

So he talked to the walls instead.

"Dear mister Wall," he said, and looked at the white bricks. "L confiscated my PSP yesterday—he told me I shouldn't be playing with my hand in a bandage. And when I wanted to play on my DS, Near told me not to, because L might see, and than I'd have nothing left. Which would be bad, don't you think, mister Wall?"

When the nurse came in she looked at him for a moment. He glared and when she left quickly after, he apologised to the Wall: "'m sorry, people are so rude—don't even knock these days!"

The point was that he was loosing his mind—and people couldn't even blame him for it.

--

"Matt, you should get it checked out." Near said wisely, and moved a chess-piece. You see, that's how honest Near was—he didn't even let the sick guy win a game of chess.

"Maybe I'm just..." Matt looked at the pale boy. He didn't like to admit this—not to anyone but mister Wall. "I think it might be the stress."

"But you should check to be sure," Near said. "If it's not the stress then maybe you're...—"

"Sick?" Matt interrupted, tone too loud—it wasn't Near's fault. He shouldn't be taking it out on Near. "So what! My best friend's been sleeping for weeks! I can't fucking care about my own fucking illness! He might be dying! I don't fucking care about me vomiting every morning or that I've developed a taste for strange foods or that I'm gaining weight and..."

He halted when Near's mouth opened.

"What? What is it?" He asked, afraid something might be wrong with him.

Near didn't comment.

--

To keep on going there was insane, Matt knew. Every time he went into the room, he cursed himself to hell. You do not walk into the room your friend is dying in. You don't—it's so... obscene. He doesn't want to be the kind of person that just sits there while his best friend pulls off an excellent impression of Sleeping Beauty. But, so he now realizes—it's not really his choice. Because when it comes down to it, we all are the kind of people that sit there while their best friends die. Because if we wouldn't sit there, right by their side, we'd be pretty lousy friends. And Matt tried to tell himself it's alright, that he's there to be ready for when he woke up—but he doesn't and that hurts even more.

--

"What if you're pregnant?" Near asked seriously.

Matt knows surrealistic: that's it.

**AN: They believe in bloody Shinigami's! Why the hell not in Mpreg's! Huh! So... well, it's sorta messed up, I know. Let me know what you think anyways! So I know whether to update or not :)**


	2. Nervous: Matt pees on a stick

Two: Nervous: Matt pees on a stick.

**AN: someone asked me how old they are since L's there. Well, let's just say Kira never happened :) So they're grown-up, but still living at Wammy's. (I'm making it the kinda orphanage that doesn't throw you out when you become eighteen) and after the accident they go there, in place of being brought to hospital. You know, with the secret identity and shit. And when I said 'grown-up' I meant they're about eighteen or nineteen or so. So yeah, they're a bit young... but whatever.**

"I can't be, Near, I'm a guy." Matt said in a little squeaky voice—he wasn't sure at all.

"Don't you mean: I can't be, I'm not gay?"

"What's that supposed to mean," Matt frowned. "I wouldn't be able to have babies—gay or not!"

"Yeah, but saying you're not gay, is a more Matt-like thing to say." Near said.

They'd stopped playing chess, the board forgotten on the floor, and moved back to his bed. Matt slumped back in his pillows, groaning.

"Near, not that it's any of your fucking business," he snarled. "But I'm gay—only for Mello."

Near nodded.

"I figured Matt. Everyone figured," he twirled a lock in his finger, the other hand patting Matt sympathetically on his knee. "We all thought you were dating. It was sort of obvious—being the best friend is one thing, being the lover is quite an other."

Matt looked away. Near gave a cough, deciding to change the subject: "but whatever... I'm just saying... you have the pregnancy symptoms, right... morning sickness, seeming to be into strange food-combo's. You might as well be."

"I'm not a girl!" Matt yelled, and he got out of bed. "I don't get pregnant!"

--

_The first time they ever really touched each other it was at a completely irrational moment. One minute they were staring up at the sky, and the other Mello's hands were sliding under his striped shirt. They had kissed before, but they never _touched_. That was something so personal—a touch. But if Mello decided it was okay, Matt would never object. So they felt each other's skin and it was really nice. Matt would never forget how velvety Mello's flesh against his own was. How soft, coppery and so pure. He would always remember exactly how many freckles Mello had on his chest, and where each one was situated. It wasn't until later that Matt got to see _all_ of Mello's freckles._

--

Matt couldn't take it anymore. He needed to cry. He needed to. And he was all by himself anyways, so why not cry himself to sleep? He started sobbing silently, and before he knew it, tears were falling onto his pillow, and he was screaming into the fabric because _God this hurts_.

"Matt?" a low baritone called from by his bedroom door, but he didn't care, just buried his face deeper. "Oh Matt," the man whispered, sighing. Matt heard him approach, and the bed dipped down a bit. He was immediately engulfed in L's warm hug. "Matt, shh, what are you doing?"

"I'm crying myself to sleep." Matt sobbed, now burying his face in L's white shirt. He hadn't hugged his mentor—his family, his father—in ages.

"But why Matt?" L asked silently, cradling Matt in his arms.

"'Cause Mello isn't fucking here to prevent me from it!" Matt burst out in tears again—it was just too much for him. He'd held up his tears for too long. And now they just needed out.

"Matt, don't you cry," L whispered, and streaked through his red threshes lovingly. "Mello is going to be okay—you just need to give him some time."

And Matt cried even harder—but now because he knew L wasn't lying. And all Mello needed was _time_.

--

_When they get off the first time it's completely unintentional. They were making out, and then suddenly they did something they'd never done before—they started touching and _undressing_. But Mello refuses to take off his underwear because goddamn, he's not a nudist, and not even Matt can see him naked—not yet. Because even though they had actually seen each other naked before, it was never like this. They were touching again, and this time all the flesh turned hot under their fingers and they were rubbing against each other and then that was just the end. Matt would from then on also always be able to tell you how many freckles Mello had on his back, arms and legs, and recite to you where they lay exactly._

--

He's not that weird—he's not. He still talks to mister Wall all day, but he's not at all that weird. He's just nervous about what he should do. Near keeps on insinuating that Matt's a total pregnant bitch—which he's _not_!—but he could be... Well, he really couldn't be. But he _could_ be. It really wouldn't surprise Matt at the least. With all the fucking they did—it really was a bit out of line.

They would go at it every time they'd be in an enclosed space together. This one time, they actually did it in the kitchen—chef was out, most kids were playing in the playroom. And there they were, on the counter. Mello was pure evil—perverted evil at that. He would seriously do Matt whenever he could, wherever he could, in whichever way he could, and as hard as he could. The only time they were actually gentle, and caring and loving was at night—when they shared a one-person's bed and were tired of a day of over-activeness. Then they were in need of some sweet love.

The point is: Matt wouldn't be surprised if he happened to be pregnant. He really wouldn't be. But fucking hell, he was a dude! Dudes do not get pregnant, goddammit!

--

_When they make love for the first time, it was weird and a bit uncomfortable—but it only made it all the more perfect. Mello's hands were everywhere, and Matt was finally allowed to kiss every single piece of his silky tan skin. His lips travelled all around, and Mello purred like some big cat—it was also the first time Matt got to see everything. He realised that not only the blonde's chest, arms, legs and back were spotted with teeny little brown specks—also his inner thighs, and his surrealistic soft ass. And even when they slept in the dark, he could still point out every single one, because they stayed so vividly in his memory._

--

"Okay—I'll check. But only if you'll get the stuff for me." Matt whispered in a conspiring way—as if they were dealing crack or something—which they weren't.

"What do you—" Near paused, staring up at Matt. The redhead looked so innocent. He was sitting up against all the pillows, hand wrapped up still, and good leg swinging down the side of the bed. Near was on the ground, making a puzzle, and _oh_, Matt looked innocent—but Near knew better. "No way," he frowned. "You get it."

"But Neeeear!" Matt whined. "I'm in a wheelchair!"

"I'm sure the pharmacy has wheelchair-friendly steps—besides, getting out will do you good." Near said wisely.

"Oh come on! You want me to check, you get it!"

"That's not true," Near argued. "I'm just saying there's a possibility. You want to know for sure!"

Matt grumbled something darkly, and hopped out of bed, balancing on one leg.

"Fine. But I'm not telling you any way!" He stuck out his tongue childishly—knowing all too well he'd share the results with Near no matter what. Then he went over to the drawer, finding some pants that would fit onto him—he only had sweats that went over the plaster so he got out a new, black pair. Pulling on his striped shirt, he glared at Near once, before flopping down into the wheelchair and rolling out of the room. Near smiled.

--

_When he woke up, his ass hurt, and Mello was sleeping, one leg lazily swinging from the side of the bed. He never complained though—because this was with Mello, and any pain that Mello gave him was good. It was the insatiable feeling that only Mello could give—the 'OH MY GOD I'M SO FREAKING OUT AND SO FUCKING IN OVER MY HEAD AND MAN I'M SO TOTALLY IN LOVE, FUCKING HELL!' to the max—it never went away because Mello never went away. And when the blonde went all pansy-like on him, and squeezed his arse, pulling Matt back in his arms, Matt didn't even care—he actually loved it when Mello did pansy-like things to him._

--

Everyone stared at him—'oh, look at the poor kid in the wheelchair with the weird glasses-thingy!'—as if he was some kind of freak. Though it wasn't really because of the wheelchair. They were also wondering what the hell he needed orange goggles for. Though they preferred to refer to them as 'the weird glasses-thingy'. It really pissed him off, because he could hear everything they said—he wasn't deaf! So he glared all of them to death, and rolled his way over to the pharmacy. Stupid Near! How dare he let Matt go out? Matt had a handicap right now! He shouldn't be left alone! What if his arms grew tired and he couldn't move anymore? Oh, Near would pay.

But also, he wasn't sure if he should be doing this. Because it was all clearly nonsense, and he already knew the result—he wasn't a girl! But, one part of him had to disagree—if he was so sure, he wouldn't be rolling his way up the wheelchair-accessible stairs right now. He wouldn't be thanking the kind man that held the door open for him. And he wouldn't be waiting by the register to ask where he could find his stuff.

'His stuff' sounded so weird. But he preferred to call it 'his stuff'. Anything was better than... Okay. Well.

"Hello sir, how can I help you?" The young girl behind the counter said, smiling down at him—he was darn small sitting down in the goddamn chair.

"I'm looking for something," he said. "And because of the rolling around crap, I was wondering if you could just directly tell me where it is, so I don't have to look for it."

"Of course sir," she smiled brightly. "What are you looking for exactly?"

Matt blushed a bit—but only a bit. He was still totally pimp. He could totally ask this—this was so tough of him! Not being afraid to ask shit. Or, you know, he loved to believe that—since it was undeniable that what he was about to ask was not pimp, and not tough. No. It was pansy. So pansy, goddammit. He swore at Near again, and then took a deep intake of breath.

"Ineedapregnancytestsoifyoucouldjusttellmewheretheyare?"

"Erm..." the girl looked confused. "I'm sorry sir," someone behind him coughed, and he blushed harder—had they heard what he'd said? "I didn't quite catch that."

He grumbled—fucking shit, now he had to ask again! This was motherfucking hell. He breathed in again, and tried to regain composure. This wasn't too bad. People did this all the time, he was sure. Except for then, 'people' would be totally feminine and have boobs. And he did not have boobs! Nor was he feminine!

"The pregnancy tests," he breathed. "Where are they?"

"Oh," now she looked even more confused—Matt could just see her wondering why he needed one of those. "It depends—what brand do you want?"

"The most accurate one." Matt said in his isn't-it-obvious-tone.

"They're all quite accurate sir."

"I don't want 'quite', I want 'accurate'." Matt growled.

"Well, none of them are a hundred percent sure sir—if you want to be sure, you should see a gynaecologist." Someone behind him snickered, and Matt refused to turn around—the girl looked rather mocking at him, too. Why the hell was that, huh? She obviously didn't have any brains—he could just as easily be looking for a test for his girlfriend.

But, instead of keeping up appearances, he yelled: "DO I FUCKING LOOK LIKE I CAN SEE A GYNAECOLOGIST TO YOU? WHAT ARE YOU, RETARDED? I HAVE A FUCKING PENIS, YOU SICK BITCH! NOW GIVE ME THREE OF THE BEST TESTS YOU HAVE, BEFORE I BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!"

Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly searched in a drawer.

"He—here sir... I'm very sorry," she said, thrusting a blue box, a yellow, and a white one in Matt's hands. "You can have these for free—have a nice day sir," she got from behind her counter, being as good as to hold the door for him. "I once more apologise." She stuttered a bit, but Matt just glared, and rolled off.

When he found a safe place somewhere between Wammy's and the pharmacy, he looked at the boxes. Oh darn. He'd never been this nervous in his life.

--

_The nights after their first time Matt expected something to happen—expected for Mello to make a move. But instead the blonde kissed his head and fell asleep. It confused Matt, a lot. Had he done something wrong? Had it not been good—cause by the noises, Matt had thought their first time was pretty memorable. Wasn't it? And when he asked Mello, flat out, why they weren't having sex anymore, the blonde blushed and said he didn't want to hurt Matt—apparently he'd believed Matt was in pain, during the whole thing. Matt frowned, obviously pissed off. Oh _no_, the blonde had not denied him sex because of this! Damn, he was getting served! So they did it on the library floor with chances of being caught, but they didn't give a fuck._

--

"Well?" Near asked as Matt rolled in through the door.

Matt just shook his head, rolling into the bathroom, and locking the door behind him. He opened a box. He could do this. All he had to do was pee on a darn stick—it couldn't be that hard! But he didn't want to. He didn't want to pee on sticks. He didn't want to be the kind of person that needs to pee on sticks. That wasn't Matt-like at all. But he had to do this. He could just tell himself that it wasn't that big of a deal—he wasn't pregnant anyway! So he could do this. He would live.

He unwrapped all the sticks, deciding to just try them all—if they all said the same thing, he'd be pretty sure. But he didn't want to do them one by one—Jesus, now what? Looking around he saw one of those plastic cups that you throw away after usage, and decided to use one of those. The manual didn't say those were forbidden, so why not.

It took him ten minutes to pee. He knew his body was stressing out because his brain was, and he wasn't being calm and reasonable. So it took him ten minutes to pee. He put the cup by the sink, and glanced at the manual, and then back at each stick—they pretty much worked the same: make sure that certain spot gets a bit of pee—_who_ invented this crap?—and wait.

So he dipped the sticks in, put them carefully by the sink, flushed the pee, dumped the cup, and sat down on the side of the tub. He waited. After five minutes he slowly got up, hopping his way over to the sink. And he looked at his three sticks.

Earlier, when he'd never been so nervous in his life, he was lying. No. This was by far the most nervous he'd ever been in his whole entire life. Nothing was more nervous than he was in that moment.

**Review if you think this is worth continuing.**


	3. Insecurity: Near finds a sure way

Three: Insecurity: Near finds a sure way.

Matt saw a lot of different things. One had two hot pink lines. The other had a 'plus'. There was even one with a fucking _smiley face_. They all meant the same thing, really. But come on: a smiley face! Does Matt look happy to you! He wanted to murder the people that made these sorts of things!

Teenage pregnancies were not funny. So _don't_ fucking give him a bloody _smiley_ face!

He hopped out of the room, flopped down in his wheelchair, and before Near could even open his mouth, he was rolling away again. _I can't be, I can't be, I can't be. It's that girl! She's messing with me!_ Don't ask how she could've possibly tapered with the tests—she just did. In no time he was back at the pharmacy, and the girl looked frightened upon sighting him.

"I need a new one!" He ranted, furiously rolling at her—people needed to split apart to let him through, and they didn't even complain that he cut in line.

"But, you had _three_ already sir." She said, eyes wide.

"I NEED a new one! The ones you gave me were broken!" He insisted. _Please tell me you tampered with them._

"Okay than," she sighed. "How many do you want sir?" Someone behind Matt frowned, but he was too busy getting out all the money he had.

He threw all the pounds and pennies he could find onto the cash register. It really was a small fortune—he'd been saving all his money so he could get the newest games all in one go. Well, the money was definitely disappearing in one go.

"All the ones I can buy with this." He said, looking serious.

"Sir, that..." her eyes were close to bulging out. "That's such a waste of the money! I already told you they're very accurate an—"

"Shut up," Matt growled. "I'm paying you, so just give me the darn tests," the girl frowned and got from behind the register, heading for the metal rows with medicine. "And give me as many different ones as possible!" he called after her.

Part of him regretted having to spend his money on this—but goddammit, he couldn't be pregnant! No smiley face was making him have a baby! He was a man! Men do not have babies!

The girl soon returned with about twenty tests—she refused to give him more, saying he better save the money for different things—he thought she was looking rather insinuating at him, and he growled. Dumping the tests in his lap—with a lot of curious glances from the other people—she said: "but honestly sir," she smiled sadly at him. "One giving you a 'minus' or a sad face won't make it true—it's the plusses and the smileys that do it."

He didn't reply and rolled out the store. He had work to do.

--

Six tests gave him stupid smileys. Three gave him plusses. Two showed two hot pink lines. Five hot pink dots were found. Three had purple bands. One band was faded lilac—when he checked the manual it said that lilac and purple both meant the same thing. He wanted to kill all the people that made pregnancy tests. He felt dehydrated—but was really just overreacting.

He sunk down to the floor, hitting the bathroom wall with his good hand. What the fuck was he gonna do now?

--

Near stared at the door in concern—he'd seen the first three tests. Matt was pregnant. Said redhead also hadn't come out of the bathroom, being there for—Near looked at the clock—four hours and a half. It was getting late. But Near didn't want to leave. He could only guess how Matt was feeling now. Probably very unsure—there were another dozen tests to prove Near's point—and Near felt it was his duty as a friend to help Matt out. He couldn't just leave the boy in the dark. There had to be a way to be sure. There just had to be.

His eyes lit up suddenly. There _was_, actually.

--

"Matt?" Near knocked on the bathroom door, and heard Matt saying something. "Matt, come out, I have a way to check."

They heard someone moving, and the door opened slightly. Matt was on the ground, cheeks tear-stricken. He looked at Near, and then at the man behind him—_L_.

"Wha—what are you doing here?" He asked. He hadn't wanted L to know. Stupid Near, couldn't shut his mouth. Then he noticed the weird machinery L had brought with him.

"Don't worry Matt," L said softly, bending through his knees, and hugging Matt—hugging L always felt right, like he belonged somewhere. "I'm not going to be mad, or tell anyone," L carefully helped the boy up, and into his bed again. "Near told me what you've been doing in the bathroom—and though the tests don't usually lie," Matt hung his head in disappointment. He'd wanted L to tell him it was going to be okay. "I can't quite believe you're pregnant. So I'll do an ultrasound."

"Ultrasound? Can't you only do that when I'm already fat and stuff?" Matt questioned.

"There's no telling how long you've been pregnant—if you are," L explained, and rolled the machine over to the bed. Near sat down on a chair next to Matt, smiling sweetly up at him. "The symptoms you have are known to appear in the first weeks—but they might as well appear later. And as long as there's something in you, no matter how small, this'll pick it up."

L patted the machine, and carefully lifted Matt's shirt a bit.

"Now don't worry," he reassured the redhead. "It's only a bit cold."

He applied some gel to Matt's stomach, and no one said a thing. Matt nervously fidgeted with the blankets as L glided the poke over his stomach, searching for any clues there was another human-being growing in his stomach.

L was careful, afraid he might actually hurt Matt, but Matt wished that he wouldn't be. Matt wanted L to talk to him or something—anything. Mello was in a bed hallways away from Matt, he wasn't about to reassure him Matt wasn't carrying his child. He needed so desperately for someone to snap him back from this bizarre dream. He needed to wake up without a couple of dozen pregnancy tests lying in his bathroom, telling him he was _with_ fucking _child_. He needed for Mello to breathe properly again, and he needed to not be afraid to talk to the blonde. He needed for the chocoholic to go back like he was before, when he would shove him into broom closets and pound him into the wall.

He just needed Mello, really.

L caressed Matt's stomach softly and slid the poke a bit lower. Then he suddenly stopped. Matt held his breath, making sure to not look at the machine. _Please, please, please, I can't_—L clicked a button, and retracted the poke, putting it by the side of the machine.

The redhead closed his eyes, and Near took his hand for comfort.

"Well, Matt, congratulations," L put his hand on Matt's shoulder. "You're definitely expecting a baby."

Matt gulped, turning away from L.

"Matt, it's okay," L said, and he got out a cloth to wipe the gel away. "We'll support you no matter what you choose to do."

Matt curled up a bit, sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't want a kid. How could he be pregnant? He was a boy! Boys don't get babies!

L gently rolled Matt over and cleaned his stomach. Then he kissed Matt's forehead and levelled himself with the boy's face.

"Matt...—"

"Yeah, yeah," Matt sobbed, looking at his own hands, angry and ashamed and confused. "I know, you're very disappointed and always do safe sex, but who would've—"

"I wasn't going to say that," L said quietly, and covered Matt with his blankets. "I know you don't want to think about this now, but you are indeed pregnant," Matt sobbed harder. "And you have to decide what you want to do about it."

Matt nodded, crying still, and murmured: "could you please just go now? I wanna be alone for awhile."

L nodded, and Near let go of Matt's hand, leaving the room. L gave Matt another kiss on his forehead and whispered: "Matt, just think about it."

But Matt wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to think about it.

**AN: I know they do ultrasounds before a certain time—but whatever. Review and I'll update**


	4. Bravery: Matt doesn’t kiss and tell

Four: Bravery: Matt doesn't kiss and tell.

**AN1: to my dearest anonymous reviewer Lawliet: I would love to call L Lawliet here... but I don't think they know his real name (besides probably Watari) so I'll keep on calling him L. 'm terribly sorry, but it just doesn't seem right! Love, Crazy4Moony.**

**AN2: Sorry this is short—next one will be short too, but after that, they're lengthening again :D Don't forget to review!**

When Matt woke up his cheeks felt sticky, and he knew he'd been crying. Glancing over once he could see tests and boxes scattered on the bathroom floor, and he looked away immediately—he didn't enjoy being the person that had pregnancy tests all over. He grunted to himself angrily, and got up, hopping out of bed. His red hair was even more ruffled then before, and he hopped to the bathroom, trying not to trip on any of the tests—he decided to clean them up later. He went over to the sink, and splashed his face with some cold water after he'd thrown up into the toilet again. This was the life he'd gotten used to over the couple of days—vomiting on a regular basis, eating pickles with chocolate (which you just don't do!) and thinking about Mello rather than being next to him and touching him. No, he was forced back to thinking about touching the boy. Ah well. L was right: Mello needed time. He would be fine, or so Matt hoped. And although he was worried about Mello, there were more pressing matters. (Like the baby growing in his stomach, but he wanted to ignore that, just a second more.)

Getting into his bedroom again, he glanced around to be sure the door was closed, and then stripped. He stripped himself down to just his boxers and one striped sock that reached his knee. Then he went over to the mirror and looked at his reflection. He'd never really gotten what Mello liked about his body—he had a normal, typical body. A bit pale, with freckles here and there, and a bit scrawny. With a belly button that stood out, and stitches in his sides—though those were new. There wasn't anything special about his body. Nothing at all. No, take Mello's body. The blonde had the body of a God, seriously. His skin was slightly tanned, almost coppery, and so soft to touch. So easy to glide a finger over. He had the blondest hairs, and when he was just in his boxers, there was a trail of those hairs starting by his belly button and going down. It was incredibly nice to run your hand through, like fine silk, and Matt loved to hug the other boy. His body was incredibly flexible—Matt knew. The beautiful skin tended over tight muscles, and Matt loved how they flexed when Matt's hands touched the boy's body. His eyes were very blue—an all in all, when he was completely naked, the boy _did_ look like an angel. With the hair and the blue eyes—of course, when he was still in his underwear, it ruined the angel-appearance, since Mello's boxers were always black. Mello had a body to love and tend to and kiss all over—Matt just had a body, the end.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Even though he didn't know why, Mello still loved him, and that was more important. His eyes wandered down to his stomach. It had grown a bit in the past weeks, but wasn't exactly fat yet—just a bit bigger. Before he realised what he was doing, he'd brought his hands to touch it idly. His eyes strongly kept fixated on his reflection, watching his hands caress his blown-up stomach. As if, when he would look down, it would all disappear or something. (And part of him was afraid it would.) He petted his stomach softly, and poked it rather oddly once, expecting something to happen. Nothing did. He wondered what to do, as he continued to caress his own belly.

Part of him was saying that he was insane and should get that thing removed as soon as possible. The other part of him was scolding for calling his baby 'that thing'. The second part was taking over. Somehow the idea of having a kid seemed less frightening when he looked at himself in the mirror. It didn't seem so bad. Because the baby would be something combined. It would be a piece of the man in the mirror, and of the blonde God. He thought that maybe having this baby wouldn't be so bad—that way he would always have Mello with him. Whatever happened to the chocoholic, Matt would always have this baby, this little piece of the man he loved. Mello would never leave Matt as long as he had that baby. And part of Matt thought—the very dark part—that would Mello die because of this accident, would Mello never wake up, at least Matt would have this piece of him, growing inside his stomach. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more wrong it seemed to not have the baby. It was something they'd created, together—you don't just give that up.

And now, Matt wasn't a man of God—that was Mello. But maybe, just maybe, God had blessed him with this child, to ease the pain of Mello's sleep. Maybe God had thought that he deserved this—give Matt a baby to tend over, while his blonde sleeps his life away. Matt didn't like to believe the universe was ruled by one man, but now that Mello wasn't moving, he needed that to hold on to. Because if God wouldn't wake Mello up, who would?

Matt smiled slightly, and finally looked down at his stomach—and behold, nothing disappeared. No, his stomach smiled right back at him, and he gave it a last pet, before pulling on his sweats again. He had to go tell Mello—he knew he was insane. He hadn't talked to the blonde, but somehow now, it seemed like a right time. He was very excited, since he'd been afraid to direct any words at Mello. But now, he wouldn't be anymore. He would talk until his throat went dry—he had to. He was in love and wanted the blonde to be okay, so he'd try. And if he didn't succeed, at least he would've _tried_.

--

When he rolled into the room, nothing had changed at all. He could feel his heart beating fast, and not even Mello's closed eyes could keep him from smiling brightly. The nurse helped him up, and he asked her permission to sit on the boy's bed. She let him, and left, which Matt was thankful for, because he'd rather not share this with the entire world—or just one nurse.

"Hi Love," Matt started—because he didn't know what else to say. He leaned against the headboard, Mello's face unmoving next to Matt's hip. His fingers started stroking the blonde hair absentmindedly. As if this were one of those mornings where Matt woke up first, and would hold the other, until he woke and told him not to be such a sentimental bitch and they'd fuck. But Matt knew that although Mello said he was a 'sentimental bitch' he secretly liked it when Matt stroked his hair. "I know I haven't been talking much lately—I apologise. I guess I didn't know what to say. It all seems a bit surrealistic. I couldn't talk, because I couldn't comprehend the fact that you wouldn't be talking back. And a conversation should have two people—not one," he sighed and kept his eyes fixed on the wall, while his hand went through the soft hair. "Though I could talk to walls, talking to you was too hard. But now it isn't anymore, because, Mells, I need you to wake up now," he whispered. "I can understand that you're not doing so well—but you need to wake up. I think I've been quite fair with you—I gave you time, but now you need to wake up again," Matt hated himself, because he'd been happy. And now he was suddenly crying again, and he looked down at his chocoholic. "Mello, I love you, please wake up," he shook the boy's shoulders gently. Nothing happened. "Mello, please, I need you to wake up," he pleaded, shaking more fiercely. "We're having a kid Mello—and I don't want to do this on my own," he could see tears on the blonde's cheeks, and it took him a moment to realize it were his own, not Mello's. "I love you, you can't let me do this by myself! We're supposed to make this decision together—Mello, you just have to wake up!" He crawled down, lying next to the unmoving body, as he buried his face in the other's shoulder. "Please come back to me," he whispered, and rested his hand against Mello's chest. "I'll be nicer—I'll give you all the chocolate you want, just come back."

--

Near heard sobbing—Matt, he could tell. Because the sobbing came from the sick room, where Mello was. And only Matt would cry—though this was new. He'd never cried in Mello's presence before.

It was actually a bit concerning, Near thought. He silently went over to the room, looking through the keyhole—he really shouldn't, and he wouldn't. But he felt like maybe Matt needed him, so he checked to be sure.

It was indeed Matt. He was crying against Mello's shoulder, one leg over the side of the bed, the one with the plaster safely tucked against Mello's. Mello didn't move. He wasn't awake, he was still in his coma, and Matt couldn't take it.

Though somehow Near thought it best not to interrupt.

--

When Matt woke up he realised he wasn't in his own bed, but in Mello's. He knew because of Mello's scent—it trickled up to Matt's nose and dizzied him with a wonderful Wauw-ness about it. Matt had always quite loved Mello's scent. No one could compete.

He listlessly dragged himself off of the boy's sick-bed, and into his wheelchair. It was such a drag—he didn't really want to leave. Even though Mello wasn't moving, it felt nice to be close to him again. It made him want to burst out in tears and cry for twelve hours straight until his eyes bled, but it also make him feel comfortable and at ease, and _home_.

But he still had to tell Mello—he wasn't used to kissing and telling, but he had to tell Mello. They were having a kid. Damn right they were!

It sounded a bit odd, even to Matt. The idea of a baby was very scaring. Definitely when it was supposed to come out of him. God. That really sounded bad. And in all honesty, Matt didn't really like babies. He wasn't a babies-person. But he could get used to the idea of his and Mello's baby. A little bit of both—that did appeal to him. Though he did wonder how the baby was supposed to come ou—...

Matt coughed to rid himself of the freighting prospect of a baby coming out his...—he'd already made up his mind. He wanted this baby.

"Mello," he said in a hushed voice. "If you can hear this, I would like you not to freak out all too much, okay," he rolled closer to the bed, tipping over to be a bit closer. "Just stay calm and shite—if it turns out you can really hear me," He bent over even closer. "Mello... I'm having a baby," a deep intake of breath. "And it's yours. We're gonna be parents Mells, so you better get a move on and wake up soon—I'll be waiting." And with that he sealed his lips over Mello's dry, chapped ones.

--

When he left the room Near was waiting in front of his door. Matt smiled cheerily at the boy, and Near asked: "why are you so happy?"

Matt shook his head, pushing the door open. Nope. Matt doesn't kiss and tell.

**AN3: Review and I'll get a move-on with the next chapter! (And give you cookies?)**


	5. Optimisticness: Matt brightens up

Five: Optimistic-ness: Matt brightens up—for all of their sakes.

The next morning Near is shocked—because there is Matt, rolling into the cafeteria. Matt hadn't been in the cafeteria since the accident, yet there he was. He rolled towards Near, smiling brightly at him—or trying to smile brightly, he failed a bit when a kid accidently bumped into the wheelchair. He glared at the boy, who quickly left, and then looked back at Near, who got out his chair to move the one opposite of his so Matt could sit there.

"Good morning Matt." Near said politely.

"Hey," Matt grinned sheepishly at the small boy. "I thought it might be time to show my face again."

"Well, it's very nice," Near smiled. "You haven't been here for a while."

"Yeah well," Matt looked at Near's plate. "I'm gonna get food. Come with me?"

He rolled away and Near hopped off his chair, following the redhead. The lady behind the food-counter smiled encouragingly—as if Matt was completely invalid. Matt frowned, _come on!_ He was only in a fucking plaster, goddammit! But then he remembered his promise, and smiled politely, while Near scooped some food for him on a plate.

"I've been thinking Near," Matt muttered, while they went over to the desserts. Near nodded to indicate he was listening. "I wanna keep it—I want to have the baby."

Near didn't answer until they were back at their table. He scooped up some pudding, ate it, and then said: "do you think that's the smart thing to do?"

Matt frowned.

"I never said it was smart, Near. But I want it anyways—listen, I love Mello to pieces, but God knows he's a menace—and I don't ever want to be without him," Matt's cheeks blushed bright red—if Near could be frank, it was rather endearing. "So, I want this kid—I mean... I think I'd like it anyways. Even if we're young and that sort of thing."

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea, Matt." He tried to sound sympathetic, but he failed. Matt sighed deeply.

"Well, it's really not up to you to decide," Matt poked his eggs, and cautiously took a bite of toast—his stomach had been upset all morning. "It's _my_ body."

Near thought it would be wise not to say anything else—Matt was obviously trying his best to be a happy camper; it wouldn't do to ruin his mood. Definitely not since it'd been a while since Near saw Matt smile the way he did now.

So instead they ate in a somewhat comfortable silence, sometimes exchanging small words, but nothing too important. It was weird to not speak—but they could manage. Matt wanted this to work, he needed it. He deserved this, he deserved to be happy. Even if he was just lying to himself. Even if he wasn't happy at all. But that went without saying—Near was smart enough not to point out that he was staring at his chocolate-cake for half an hour, and Matt didn't say that he missed the company of his blonde—it could work that way.

--

"What is going on? Is he sick again?" Roger frowned slightly—the room was completely empty.

L stared at the bed, trying to ignore the vomiting noises obviously coming from the bathroom. Near twirled a lock of white hair around his finger and Watari grimaced, murmuring he'd go help Matt out. L nodded in agreement and followed Watari into the bathroom.

Roger looked at Near, but the pale boy didn't say anything. Then he tapped his foot waiting for the redhead—they were going to take the bandage off his arm and start with kiné-therapy. But apparently Matt was sick—again. Roger had noticed the boy had been sick for weeks with on end now, vomiting all the time, but eating more then before. Not to mention that he was getting a tummy—although all the food he ate probably went out again.

When L came out of the bathroom he was casually holding a trashcan and Roger frowned at this. Watari followed, helping Matt hop into the room.

"What is this?" Roger asked. "Why are you still sick?"

Before anyone could answer, Matt gagged, making gurgling noises and L handed him the trashcan, like that's all he ever did. The redhead grabbed it, bent over and they heard a splashing sound as he let out everything that was inside.

Roger's eye twitched as he kept on staring at the redhead in disbelief—what on earth was going on, and why wasn't anyone telling him?

The ginger mop of Matt's hair moved—he was shaking his head but was put off when they heard him gag again. It was very obvious to Roger that the boy was indeed still ill. But why was no one treating him for it?

L gave Matt a light pat on his back—something that should be friendly, but it made Matt splutter and vomit some more—and then said, without any emotion whatsoever: "Matt is having a baby—that's why he's so sick all the time."

"He... WHAT!"

--

Matt didn't look at the others, but held onto the trashcan, that smelled sour. They were back in Roger's office and the room was completely silent. L sat down on the couch, Watari shifting a bit nervously next to him. Near stood next to Matt's wheelchair, and the redhead appreciated the gesture, even though it didn't make much difference. Roger seemed flabbergast. He just sat there—staring quite obviously at Matt, mouth slightly agape.

Eventually he said, still stunned: "a baby?"

Matt nodded, feeling nauseous again.

"And..." he seemed to doubt, before he continued: "you're keeping it?"

He nodded again, and from the corner of his eyes he could see L smiling slightly. Then he felt a chunk rise in his throat and bent over, aiming for the trashcan. They heard the unmistakeable splatter and Near scrunched his nose—Roger wasn't sympathetic though, and looked sternly at the redhead, who didn't even notice.

"Do you think that's wise?" he questioned brutally—Watari looked as if he wanted to interfere but L stopped him. "You're barely eighteen!"

Matt nodded faintly, he wanted to reply but felt the food gurgling up once more—pregnancy was a _bitch_. Roger didn't seem to notice his obvious discomfort with the fact that he was throwing up in a trashcan, and decided to rant on.

"And why would you want to raise it in the first place? I'm sure we'd all be happy to help, but it having only one parent would be sad and—"

At this Matt gave a choked cough and hiccupped, grunting: "it doesn't have only one parent," and he frowned. "Mello's not dead, and he'll wake up sooner or later so—"

Roger interrupted shifting in his chair: "what do you mean, 'Mello will wake up sooner or later', what does Mello have to do with your baby. I know he's your friend, but it's hardly proper that you let your child believe it has two fathers when—"

More coughing and Roger stilled when he saw the look on Matt's face—it was absolutely destructible. He knew Matt wanted to yell badly, luckily for Roger, Matt's throat was raw so he couldn't. He managed to sneer though—which came close enough for him.

"Are you really that dense?" Roger's eyes widened and Watari nervously fidgeted with his jacket—he didn't like the two fighting, they were a big family, fighting wasn't right here. "I mean that Mello rammed his dick up my ass and got me pregnant! Jesus Christ! How else would I get a baby? I know your intelligence isn't one to rival ours—but still." With that he charismatically dropped his head and started puking once more—darn, he wanted to be death. He felt like he was choking, but it just wouldn't stop—no matter how many food and slimy, yellow stuff came out: breathing remained an issue. Though deep inside he had a feeling it wasn't because of the vomiting.

Roger looked absolutely appalled, but somehow seemed to realise that Matt was being serious—so he stood and went over to pat the boy's back softly, rubbing soothing circles. Watari was right—they were a family. And what Matt needed most now, was their support, because he knew that although the redhead didn't want to admit, their thoughts about this mattered to him.

"I feel sick enough without you pointing out how terribly wrong this is," Matt coughed slightly, looking up with watery eyes. "I understand how repulsive it sounds—but it's the way it is, and I love Mello, and I want this little piece of us to grow and become a real person—and if you're not pro me, I can understand, but then you're not the family I thought you were."

Roger gave a small sigh and kissed the red hair, stroking some sweaty threshes from his face.

"Of course I'm pro you Matt, I was just a bit surprised, forgive my rudeness," he said, bending through his knees to level with the boy. "I'm sure we're all happy to help you with this—and I don't quite mind the idea of more tipper-tapper around Wammy's house—definitely not if it's the offspring of two of our brightest students."

L nodded and Watari said: "we're thrilled to welcome another soul to our family."

"The more the merrier."

Matt smiled gratefully at them, but before he could say his thanks, he toppled over and started vomiting again—freaking out Roger slightly, who made a noise of disgust, but started rubbing Matt's back again none-the-less.

--

Two weeks later, L is walking through the hallways—he's happy: he's got cake, why wouldn't he be? He was just thinking about how good Matt had been holding up, when he saw said boy, sitting in a dark corner of a dead-end hall. L paused. He wasn't sure whether this was good, or bad—the boy was sitting there, rolled up. And if it hadn't been for the tuff of red hair, and the crutches, he wouldn't even have known it was Matt. Then there was a loud sob and L decided that okay, this was _not_ good.

He approached the crying boy carefully until he eventually sat down next to him—he was eating chocolate, bits smeared against his cheek. When he felt the man's presence close-by he looked up, eyes red from crying.

"Matt, what on earth is wrong?" L asked softly. "Why aren't you happy anymore?"

"I've just been trying to be optimistic—I promised myself that I'd be optimistic, you know, see the good and such," Matt sniffled, turning away. "But I've horribly failed."

And really, there wasn't anything L could say about that—anything to contradict him. So instead he just held to boy in his arms, not carrying that he was smearing his clean shirt with chocolate.

**AN: I think that for a man in his situation, Matt is keeping up pretty well... I'll might just have to make him go mental in the next chapter...**

**Sorry it took so long--and that it's quite short. Next up: Matt goes videogame-style!**

**Review if you thought it was any good. Flame if you thought it sucked. The choice is yours.**


	6. Videogames: Matt rounds up his coins

Six: Videogames: Matt rounds up his coins and tries to bribe.

_Sometimes Matt falls. He's not the most gracious guy on the planet, so sometimes he falls. It's never really pleasant: his head always ends up hurting—or his bum, depending on how he fell. He always has a bruise and such. It's no fun. The only good thing about falling is that Mello always kisses the booboos afterwards, and that's when Matt realizes that falling can be good: because falling in love with Mello has to be the best thing he ever did._

--

After two more months, Matt went back to feeling possessed. He was going _crazy_. Somehow the insaneness of the situation had finally gotten to him, and he was wearing down—_breaking_—at last. It had taken him long enough!

There was only one coherent thought in his head: I'm pregnant and the father of my kid isn't awake. I need to rescue my princess Peach!

He made his way over to the fridge—he knew there had to be something in there that would be of use to him. Even though they weren't allowed to take food from it, Roger made an exception for him these days, with the eating-for-two thing and such.

Look, it's actually quite simple. Matt was just loosing his mind—so if you could kindly _fuck off_, that'd be superb! But unfortunately for Matt, there were a couple of irritating small children sitting on the counter, staring at him with their large eyes as he hopped over to the fridge, debating whether or not to loose the crutches. They were staring with those doe-eyes and Matt wanted to snap at them so desperately, but _goddammit_ he couldn't. They were just so... innocent.

Matt inwardly growled and pulled the fridge open. The thing—_kid_—in his stomach was making him weak. Now he couldn't even tell kids to go fuck themselves—no matter that they were too young to even know what that meant. He remembered five days ago—when L had found him crying and eating chocolate—oh how he wished now he hadn't wasted that goodness. He could surely use it now—seeing as the fridge was almost completely void of anything even _resembling_ chocolate. He took the couple of bars he could find, and stuffed them down his pockets. Then he noticed the big chocolate cake—with white-chocolate icing. _Oh God_. He could mentally see Mello drooling at the image.

_I have to have that cake!_ But there were kids in the kitchen! He had witnesses... should he take them hostage and demand the cake? Should he...

"Sir," the smallest girl said softly. "Do you want us to carry anything for you?"

Matt deviously laughed inwardly—_hah!_ The innocence of young children! Just what he needed.

"Actually," Matt turned, leaning on his crutches and doing his best to smile innocently at the two kids. "I need to transport the pie. But I can't carry it with my crutches."

"Oh!" The boy leaped off the counter. "We'll do it for you! We can carry it."

The girl nodded and Matt gave a shrug to the fridge, hopping away. He heard them follow him seconds later, running to keep up with his fierce crutch-steps. _Oh._ He might not be able to verbally abuse them—but darn, he was still evil!

--

_He's not sweet. Matt looks sweet, but he isn't that sweet. He just is when you compare him to Mello, since the guy is a raging ball of blonde with fire coming out its end—it's not hard to be sweet compared to that. He hates it that people sometimes expect him to be nice—people always underestimate him. Because he's only third in line, and what the hell does that mean? The thing is—third in line or not, it doesn't matter, because he's still smarter, brighter, wittier, better, than they'll ever be. And he has Mello—which is more than he can say about any of them._

--

After the kids had left his room, he counted what he'd gathered so far. Not much. He had exactly six chocolate bars, and the delicious cake—that's it. There _had_ to be more. Matt flopped down on his bed, and glared around angrily. They were an orphanage! It was full of children... no way there were only four chocolate bars in the whole building!

_More_. There _had_ to be more.

He went to his closet, thinking about where the chocolate would be hidden. If he could just see this as a video-game, this would be solved in no time. But than again, video-game heroes didn't usually need crutches to move. Glaring at the things—he'd left them at his bed—he pulled on some sweats, and poked his stomach once. He had become somewhat fond of it. Even if it was getting fatter, and he was positive his old jeans wouldn't fit anymore. If Mello didn't wake up soon the guy would freak out—because than Matt would suddenly be a real fatty and... _hey_. He paused his movements, a light bulb popping up.

Mister Matt, the man with a plan—_activated_.

--

_He plays videogames. A lot of them. It's the truth really—Mello sometimes bitches about how much videogames he plays, and how he likes it more than he likes Mello. Which is a lie—but sometimes he likes it when Mello bitches. And okay... on his like-list, Mello's first. But videogames are definitely second! Or even first-and-a-half, if that's possible._

--

Matt wasn't per say the smartest one around—actually, he was number three, and for right reasons. Matt wasn't a leader, he wore orange goggles. So maybe not the most normal guy on you block, but he ain't all that bad.

_Unless_, you make him pregnant. Then you end up with super-Matt—who's, evidently, a PMSing bitch. You thought Mello was bad? Well take a look at this—oh no, Mello was an Angel compared to how Anti-Christic Matt was acting.

"Hey Fatso!" The boy shrieked as a furious red ball of... red poked him with something hard. He fell to the floor, as the iron tip of the crutch continued to attack his side—occasionally bumping his head and squatting his shoulder. "Hand over kid! Or fear my wrath!"

Whimpering slightly the chubby brunette handed over his bar of chocolate. It was Cadbury's finest. Matt halted his attack, leaning on the crutch he wasn't using as a weapon, and inspected the bar. It looked intact enough to his liking, and he pushed it down his sweats—oh yes, up front. Don't we just love those Wammy boys and their obsession with pushing stuff down their pants?

"Where did you get it?" Matt questioned—he doubted Mario ever questioned stuff, unless it was one of his mushroom-friends. But somehow Matt didn't think jumping up and down the kid would get him much wiser—or would win him a coin, for that matter.

"Roger is handing out our allowances—I just bought it." The boy looked close to tears, but Matt ignored it.

"There's more, isn't there?" he snapped—he was feeling rather fierce today. That was always a side-effect of having a genius idea. And of being pregnant, but Matt kept on telling himself that he _wasn't_ giving in to his feminine-pregnant urges. _No_. He'd do this if he wasn't pregnant too. Though deep inside he knew he didn't have a say in the matter. "Show me where it is, or I'll resume my torture."

The kid wasted no time scrambling to his feet, guiding Matt to his room. If the redhead didn't know better, he'd say this kid was even more obsessed with chocolate than Mello. Only he had a small tummy to show for. As he robbed the room of all its chocolate, he wondered if maybe the kid was pregnant too—who knew. Though the dirty magazine Matt found under the bed claimed otherwise.

--

_All in all, Matt sees himself as an okay person. But than suddenly he got pregnant, and his view changed. He was a man with a baby in his stomach, and that's just wrong! But there isn't really anything he can do about it, now is there? And is it his fault to begin with? No! they'd both been tested ages ago—no diseases—than why would they use condoms? Men don't get pregnant. How could they have known? It was such a stupid idea, and although Matt was getting fond of this thing inside of him, he sometimes wanted to throw himself down a set of stairs, baby and all. Because before he was okay—now he's just weird in the not-good way._

--

When Near finally found Matt, he was fiercely storming through the hallway, apparently following a slim, blonde girl.

"HAND IT OVER BLONDY! I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND I'LL…" he stopped dead in his tracks upon sighting Near. The blonde raced past the small boy, thankfully heading for the stairs. Matt didn't even blush, but gave a small nod. "Near."

"Matt," Near sounded both confused and scolding—though more confused, and a bit scared. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was just… rounding up a bonus."

"A bonus?"

"Yeah, she has a secret stack—I've beaten all the chubby kids, now I get a bonus." He said gleefully, fixing his goggles. He leaned over on one of the crutches, flexing and stretching the plastered leg—it was getting a bit sore.

"Matt, life isn't a videogame," Near frowned, and looked at the leg. "You're in pain—you should lie down for a moment."

"Don't nag Near," Matt stopped moving the leg, and took a step closer, leaning on the crutches. "And I know life isn't a videogame," he mocked unsurely—laughing with himself in a way you did when you were lying so obviously you just want to sink away. "I was..."

"Pretending it was?" Near asked. "Using videogame-terms to describe it? Comparing them?"

"Shut up!" Matt angrily snapped. "You don't get to boss me around! I have a kid in my stomach! If that isn't videogame-like, I don't know what is! So let me round up my coins and get the fuck out—I deserve this bonus and you ain't taking it from me!"

He passed Near, heading after the girl again. Before he descended the stairs, Near said: "the real bonus is the baby, Matt, don't you realise that?"

But the redhead chose to ignore this comment—even if he agreed deep down. That wasn't the kind of bonus he was hoping for.

--

_Matt's not a chocolate man. It needs to be said: Mello is chocolate-obsessed, literally. He'll only settle for the finest Cadbury—nothing else will do. He sometimes lowers himself down to snickers and twix, but hates that the sweet chocolate taste is ruined by the caramel and nuts. The thing is: Matt's not made for chocolate, and if he does indulge himself in it, it has to be Mello. That's the only chocolate he'll settle for._

--

By the time Matt had finally overpowered the blonde girl his leg was deviously throbbing and his hand was purple—he'd overstretched it during the battle—but he was sure it was worth it. She had to have almost as much secret chocolate-stashes as Mello—though she said she didn't eat that much of it herself. Apparently this was Mello's secret chocolate-dealer—even though he just stole her stuff without paying. She was one of the goody goodies, which was why she had access to the sweet-closet. Just like Near and some others.

He put all the things he'd 'won' from her in his own room, stacking it with the rest. He was about to start counting how much he had now, when he felt his good leg wobble and gave way—in less than a second he went crashing to the floor.

Swearing loudly there was only one thought coherently in his tangled mind: darn, I could definitely use one of those power-ups now

He tried to get up, hauling on the crutches for support, but his legs were too weak and he slit down the wall to the floor again. Actually, now that he was down there anyway, he noticed how much his head hurt—trying to burst out of his skull, apparently.

All in all, he was in a lot of pain.

After what seemed hours, the pain dulled a bit, and he managed to get up. He should be resting—really. But he couldn't. Not now.

Flopping down onto the bed he started counting all the chocolate he'd gathered. It would have to do, he decided, since he had no money left, and he was positive there wasn't a bar of chocolate to find in the whole orphanage—he had round up all his coins. Now, for the next step...—

When his leg started throbbing again he sighed and buried his head in his cushions. Maybe he should rest just a little while. Even super-Mario took a break now and then, he was sure!

--

_Matt has never cried for his parents. He realised that years after their deaths. Somehow he could not cry—he could not miss them, there was no hole in his chest where they used to be. All in all, he should have felt bad about it—but he never did. Not even now. Not even when he's crying his eyes out because Mello's not awake. Not even when he misses the blonde so much it hurts to breathe. Not even when he feels this empty spot where Mello should be—not even then._

--

By the time he'd safely gathered all the chocolate in the sick-room, he started stacking them again. In his head the room would look great: chocolate everywhere. In reality, it was even better.

He'd found so much cacao-filled things there was barely place to put them! Soon the completely white room had brown everywhere. He put the chocolate cake and Cadbury on the wardrobe—then suddenly there was no place and he started putting it on windowsills. When he was out of those, he decorated the floor. Big stacks were made against the walls. He was rather proud of himself and—_okay_.

So maybe he had _no_ pride—but darn, if begging the blonde didn't work, bribing should!

"Mello," he said in his most business-like tone, sitting down in the plastic chair. He propped up his sore leg, glancing around the room one last time. "I'll cut you a deal. You wake up now, and all this chocolate is yours."

**AN: Neh, isn't that a cliffhanger :D BEG FOR MORE! –wauw, I'm seriously losing it—do forgive me–…**


	7. Perfection: Mello makes it all perfect

Seven: Perfection: Mello makes everything perfect.

He'd seen a twitch. He was so _sure_ he saw a twitch that he wanted to pull all his hair out! He saw a _twitch_! In a second flat he was on the bed, smothering the blonde—_a twitch_! There had been a twitch! YES!

Then there was a splutter, and one hand weakly reached up to push Matt away—okay, so maybe he was suffocating _his_ beautiful blonde, but there had been a twitch! He had a right to!

Matt was nowhere near reasonable thinking—but he wasn't as far gone as to not realise that strangling the father of his child might not be a good idea. So he sat down—shaking all over because there had been _a twitch_ and a hand had been _moving_—shifting nervously in the plastic chair. He focussed on Mello's face, and the finger twitched again. He could see it from the corner of his eye—but after another ten minutes of waiting the finger didn't look too interesting anymore. Yeah, Mello could move an arm—so much was sure. But his eyes were still shut away from the world.

"Mello?" Matt tried softly. No response—his ring-finger crooked again, but that was it. Matt half thought about calling a nurse, but another side of him wanted to save Mello all by himself—which was selfish and it wouldn't work, but _Goddammit_! He got out his chair, hopping over to a drawer and taking a bar of Cadbury's. When he reached the bed again, he swayed it in front of Mello's face. "Mello, I have chocolate," he cooed, sitting on the bed next to his Sleeping Beauty. "Please Mells, open your eyes," the other hand twitched too—and his body definitely shifted, as if uneasy sleep had come over him. _But that's not good enough._ "Please Mells come _on_," he was so close—this could not be happening. Who would be so cruel as to move and then _not_ wake up! He draped his arms around the lithe figure, his fat stomach bumping into the blonde's. "Just fucking wake up already you good-for-nothing son of a bitch!"

"Matt?" And Matt's heart stopped for a minute—because he really thought it was Mello talking to him. Then he realised that Mello didn't sound like that at all, and he got tears in his eyes. "What are you doing?"

L walked into the room, helping the crying boy up—he wasn't sure if Mello's broken body could handle a messed up redhead right now.

"He twitched," Matt sobbed. "But he's not opening his eyes."

L frowned—certainly Matt was just imagining things. He started walking Matt out of the room, but as he glanced back to the bed, his eyes widened—and Matt knew he'd seen the twitch. The man went into full mentor-mode after that, immediately rushing Matt out of the room, and beeping up a nurse and the doctor. He pushed Matt down onto a chair in the hallway and Matt went into a fully-frozen stance, not moving from his spot and staring straight ahead. Mello was _waking up_.

--

Matt was going to _die_. He was sure—because this was even worse than at the beginning. He'd been sitting in the same darn chair for _hours_—outside it was getting darker and a lot of children had already run up to go to bed—and nothing happened. The blinds to Mello's room were closed, doctors working away just on the other side. No one had come out yet, all tending to the blonde's health. But it wasn't _good enough_, because he had no clue as to what was going on.

He felt like all he was doing now was waiting—first there had been excuses. Back when the accident had just happened, there were excuses to not be there. He _had to get_ to the operation-room, he _needed_ plaster, he was _in_ fucking pain. _Anything_ not to have to stay there. Now there were none. Mello was waking up and he wanted to stay by the blonde's side. He _had_ to stay by his side. He had waited for this so long, he couldn't miss out on it now. That'd be so stupid.

But the _waiting_. The waiting wore him out. He just didn't want to be the person always waiting—waiting, waiting, waiting. It was horrible. He couldn't handle it because inside he was dying—the kind of death only _Mello_ could prevent, only _Mello_ would suffice and it hurt to _breathe_ and he was going MAD!

He should be okay by now—Matt was sure. Mello should be awake by now. How long could it take? His body had fully responded, but his eyes had remained close. Why? Why would he be so cruel to Matt? Matt hadn't done anything wrong! He was... oh God. Maybe Mello was punishing him because of the _baby_! Yes, that was it! He was a pregnant bitch and Mello _hated_ him for it.

He broke out in sobs—oh, he knew this kid hadn't been a good idea. Mello didn't want his knocked-up ass anymore, he would...

"Matt?" Matt looked up with tears in his eyes—L was smiling at him. Doctors and nurses left the room and Matt got up. "It's okay now—you can go in."

"He—he's okay?" Matt asked hopefully—so maybe Mello wasn't punishing him because of the thing growing in his stomach.

L nodded and Matt took his crutches hastily hopping into the room. Stuff was still beeping and lights burned holes in the semi-dark—his eyes were closed and for a minute Matt feared he wasn't okay at all and L was just a lying bastard and then...

He peeked one eye open and smiled. He _smiled_. Mello smiled and Matt just wanted to _kiss_ him all over and _cry_ and _scream_ his lungs out! And his heart was _exploding_ and the feeling was so _fucking_ amazing that he abandoned his crutches and flew to the boy's side, attacking the bed and dumping his full weight next to his blonde—_his_ blonde who was fully awake and smiling at him.

Matt felt Mello's tired arms wrap around him carefully—it seemed as if he tried to squeeze him closer, but he was too weak to do so. So instead Matt flattered himself to the blonde, careful not to bump his stomach or move abruptly.

Mello's second eye opened, and he stared at Matt for a while, seemingly trying to absorb every single feature—and Matt did the same, examining his blonde because now that his eyes were open, he looked so much _better_. So _alive_.

They stayed still for another second, and Matt realised he wanted to _yell_ and _scream_ and _move_ and do _something_—but being silent would be better for Mello, he was sure. So instead he locked eyes with the blonde and smiled—smile, smile, smile, _smile_. Smiled like he hadn't smiled in ages, because Mello was _awake_. And it was _good_. He knew it was good and they were going to be okay. And he was happy—never had he been so happy to see Mello wake up. It was wonderful.

"Don't I get..." Mello's voice was raspy—strange, it sounded a bit like his post-sex voice. Oh, how he loved Mello's post-sex voice. Hoarse ands raspy and low. "Don't I get a good-morning kiss?"

Matt nodded, wrapping his arms tighter around the blonde's figure—and then their lips met and...

It was _beautiful_. Mello's lips were warm again, and a bit wet. And they could still drive him insane—just pecking against his own. He loved the feeling of Mello's lips against his own. It was marvellous. They moved against his in a perfect symphony, _warm_ and _soft_ and _familiar_. How long had it been since he'd been kissed like that?—since Mello had kissed _back_? Too long, so much was sure. It felt like flying, his weak arms surrounding Matt's waist and keeping him in place.

At first it was slow, but soon Mello's hands were in his hair, and Matt's hands were caressing his cheeks, and their tongues were entwining and their teeth clashing. He felt Mello's body growing hot under his own and it was _fantastic_, because he'd missed him so much. Soon he was straddling the lithe body, and Mello's hands were sliding under his shirt, over his spine up to his shoulders and feeling against him. He had just pulled off Matt's shirt when he abruptly stilled.

Matt opened his eyes—and then he would _die_ of shock. Mello was staring at his _stomach_—at the baby that was growing there, had been growing there for months probably, the baby that had turned his stomach fat and flubby and _of course_ Mello would notice—how could he not? Matt was _gigantic_.

Ohshitcrapfuck_no_! The redhead turned his head away, looking at the wall instead—he could feel tears well up in his eyes and sniffled softly. Mello pressed his hand softly against Matt's stomach, and Matt bit his lip. This was it. Mello would call him a fat bitch and break up with him—but whose fault was it he was fat in the first place, huh!

"Mattie," Mello's free hand reached up to turn the redhead's face towards his own. Matt huffed at the petname, and disregarded Mello's blue eyes. "Are you distinctly ignoring the fact that your belly's as big as a watermelon?" the blonde smiled, pecking his cheek softly. "What, you missed the sex so bad that you went on an eating-rampage?"

"Do you hate me for being fat?" Matt asked flat-out, and Mello frowned.

"Of course not," he kissed the redhead again, grazing his hands over his stomach. "It's just a bit weird—when did this happen?"

"Well," Matt bit his lip and glared angrily. "You _could_ say it started when you decided to fuck me—and after that it just started going down hill."

"I don't..." Mello coughed, smiling still—so _innocent_. "I don't understand Mattie. What do you mean?"

"You..." Matt averted his eyes, and pulled away from the blonde. Mello frowned, looking a bit hurt, but Matt didn't notice. "I'm not fat," Mello's frown grew—had he hurt the boy's feelings by telling him his stomach was as big as a watermelon? "I... it's our baby."

"It's what?" Mello chuckled, forgetting his worries. "Men don't get babies Mattie."

"Yeah well I do!" Matt sulked—this wasn't going well. This wasn't going well _at all_. He was just mocking Matt! And Mello would yell at him and be so pissed... because really, men aren't supposed to get babies. It _doesn't_ work that way!

"You mean..." Mello paused, and Matt dared to look at him. His head was in his pillow, and he'd closed his eyes. His hands stopped moving—and then he suddenly pulled Matt down and hugged him close against his body. "We're having a baby?"

Matt could only nod as he felt tears form in his eyes. He didn't know why he was suddenly crying—because was Mello happy or not? But he cried anyway, and he almost wanted to laugh when Mello's hand was going through his hair—because Mello was awake and at least he was still _breathing_ and at least they were there _together_.

"That's amazing Matt," Mello kissed the top of Matt's head, and he looked up, cheeks tear stricken. "We're gonna have a kid."

"You're... okay with it?"

"Well of course! It's gonna be a little piece of you," Mello broke out in a full grin and Matt smiled despite the tears. "It'll be perfect."

"It'll be you too," Matt murmured and he leaned his head back down against Mello's chest. "That's what'll make it perfect. A bit of Mello and everything's just perfect. I missed you so much Mells."

"Poor Mattie," Mello cooed softly. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I didn't mean to fall asleep like that."

Matt didn't reply, but flattered his head against the blonde's chest—his heart was beating and his eyes were open, what more could Matt want? He felt Mello's hand settle against his stomach, and that was even better—because Mello was okay and there was something in his stomach and it was alive but it was all perfectly _fine_.

And maybe it was freaky—_no maybe, it's definitely freaky_—but it was okay, and Mello made it perfect, always.

--

When Matt woke up Mello was still awake—hands rubbing soft circles on his back, and the blue eyes were staring at him with intensity. Matt rubbed his eyes sleepily, and Mello grinned at him—a sloppy grin, as if he'd forgotten how to.

"Don't look at me like that," Matt complained, leaning against the blonde's chest again. "I'm not that interesting."

"I disagree." Mello stroked some hair from Matt's face, and his grin disappeared slightly. "Hey, Matt?"

"Huh."

"Now that you're pregnant and all..." there was a slight pause, and Matt gave a yawn. "We... we won't be able to have sex anymore, will we?"

Matt eyes widened and he squatted Mello's sides hard.

"Is that all you can think about! Sex?"

"Well, I haven't had any in a really long time—I think." He looked pensively.

Matt glared and hit him again.

"You bastard! You only want to fuck me! You don't even care about the thing in my stomach!" Tears of anger brimmed his eyes and he continued to scowl, crossing his arms over his chest—he didn't move off of Mello though, and the blonde grinned cheekily, stroking his back again.

"It's a baby Matt, don't call it the thing," he scolded softly, and kissed Matt's red hair. "And of course I care about our baby. How old is it?"

"I dunno." Matt huffed, and Mello's smile disappeared abruptly.

"You don't know?"

"I didn't ask L." Matt explained indignantly.

"How can you not—oh well, we can ask him later," Mello smiled again, and kissed the redhead behind his ear, murmuring huskily: "after we've had sex."

And this time Matt didn't squat him because there were warm lips on his own and _whatever_—Mello made everything perfect anyway.

**AN: Mello's slightly OOC (or you know, very OOC and I'm just in denial) But I wanted him to be a bit sweet. Cute and sweet and happy about a baby, so yeah. This was a bit of a short one. But next one I think will be a bit longer. Since now I have two teens I can mess around with :D The next one's 'Insanity' :)**


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